


Foundling

by Quaggy



Series: My Kids [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quaggy/pseuds/Quaggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <i>Expecting</i>. Josh observes the changes that one small cat can make to a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 29, 2009.

My son, who generally makes more noise than a herd of elephants, is trying to be stealthy. I can tell because he’s only slammed the kitchen door twice. Now, there are times in every teenager’s life were some stealth is in order. Breaking curfew. Report card day. Stuff like that. But it’s the middle of a July afternoon and James wasn’t supposed to be home for another two hours. This doesn’t look good from any angle.

“Mary! Mary, where are you?” he calls out in what in his mind, I’m sure, is a whisper, but is better classified as a dull roar. Okay. Trying to be stealthy and calling for his sister. Yeah, definitely not good. I think I’m going to just sit here for a moment and listen in. Get a feel for the terrain before I engage the enemy, so to speak. Donna would call this spying. I call it a necessary parenting tool. Donna and I are outnumbered by teenagers. We need every bit of help we can get.

“What’s up, James?” Mary calls as she pounds down the stairs. (She’s been taking lessons from her brother, I think.) “Whoa, is that a cat?” That’s my Mary. Direct and to the point.

“No, Mary, it’s a furry turnip.”

“I thought turnips were bigger than that. He’s just a baby, isn’t he? Where on earth did you get him, James?”

“I found him near the State Department. One of the security guards said he’s seen him around. You have to help me hide him from Mom and Dad until I can find someone to take him in.”

“What about a litter box?

“What about it?”

“James, your room reeks, but I think mom and dad will notice if it starts smelling like cat poop.”

“Who said says it’s going to stay in MY room?” I can just imagine the scowl Mary is giving him now.

“Well, it’s not staying in my room. We’d have to tell Jess and you know she can’t keep a secret.”

“Mary, will you quit wasting time and help me before mom and dad find out?” And now here’s where I make my dramatic entrance.

“Find out about what?” Okay, so it’s not the most impressive entrance line. I’m no Jed Bartlet. But Mary and James both jump a mile, so I would say it’s effective.

“Ummm. . . Dad. . . Ummm. . .”

“James, you know how your mother feels about cats.”

“Yes, Dad,” he replies with downcast eyes.

“But you still brought one home? Without asking me or you mother?”

“Only until I find someone to take him?”

“And if you can’t find a family? What are you going to do?”

“Ummmmm. . .” His eyes trail to the door as if contemplating escape routes. He’s never been very good at working out contingency plans. Fortunately for him, he is rescued by a voice from above.

“KITTY!!!” Jess cries, from the top of the staircase. “Oooooh! Can I hold him?”

“James, do not be distracted by Doctor Doolittle here,” I command, which of course, is easier said than done since Jess has managed to levitate down the stairs in record time and is now jumping around her brother like a hyperactive pixie.

“Jessica,” I say in a level voice, with just one eyebrow raised. It calms her down enough, so that I can return to the matter at hand. "James, do you understand the significance of what you just did? This is a living thing, whose life you just changed. You can't simply take him back if things don't work out the way you expect." I don't think I'm just talking about the cat anymore. I have to tread carefully. Things have been a little stressful around here since we adopted Mike. I guess it's a little harder for a thirteen-year-old to adapt to a new family than it was for our five-and-under crowd. Donna and I knew we were going to have to talk to James, Mary, and Jess sooner rather than later. But together. And not using some stray as a metaphor. "When you decided to change this little guy’s life, for better or for worse, you made a commitment to doing the best by him. It's now your responsibility. Do you understand, son?"

"Yes, Dad," James mumbles. The room is unnaturally quiet as my children process the deeper meaning of what I just said.

"Daddy?" Jess all but whispers.

"Yes?" I sigh, knowing exactly what she's going to ask.

“Please, can I hold him now?” Jess begs, excitement tightly reigned, earnestness in full force. Her brother hands the kitten over before I can say a word. He may be built like a NBA player, but James is a softie.

“Don’t get too attached. I don’t think we can keep him,” James warns. He’s going to let his baby sister do his dirty work, the sly dog.

“Daaaa-aaad. . .” Jess begins.

“It’s not me you have to convince,” I reply quickly before she has a chance to really start. “Your mom is not fond of cats.”

“Don’t her parents have a couple?” Mary asks. It’s sad how in this house my mom is “Grandma” and the Mosses are “Mom’s parents”. But I didn’t make the rules. Donna’s parents did. There’s no relationship. I don’t think her parents ever met Jess. Which wouldn't be such a big deal except for the fact that we adopted her seven years ago.

“Yes," I reply. "But the one she grew up with was mean. Then, the first roommate she had here in DC put her over the edge. The woman had four cats, a fact which she conveniently hid from your mother until after she moved in. And all four were psychotic. Your mom developed a distaste for anything feline after that. If you want to see something funny, get her started on what ‘cat people’ are like.” Well, it helps if Donna is already pretty drunk, but we’ll leave that part out since we have minors in the room.

“So we have to convince Mom,” Mary muses. Out of all my children, she is the planner, the one always trying to figure things out, trying to fix everything. James is the caretaker, looking after everyone, even Donna and me. Jess is the doer, the first one to act and react to a situation. And Mike. . . Well, Mike’s complicated in many, many ways. For example, I know that right now Mike is lurking in the doorway, wanting to join us, but not wanting to seem interested.

“Easier said than done,” James groaned. “Dad’s right. She gets really stubborn about things like this.“ And then James looks across the room and gives Mike a rueful "You know what I'm talking about here, right buddy?" look. Well, I wasn't expecting that and neither was Mike.

“Stubborn about what?” Mike sneers, doing his best impression of a rebellious teen.

"Cats. James found a cat. Come see," Mary says.

"Do you want to hold him?" Jess asks offers, raising the fluff ball a little higher.

I'm close enough to see Mike's eyes widen just a little. Maybe it has something to do with our discussion or maybe they just decided they were going to need as many allies as they can get. But this is the first time that they've ignored his attitude and collectively treated him as one of them.

"Sure. Let me see him, squirt," Mike replies, a bit too casually. The kitten looks even smaller, in Mike's large, pale hands than it did in Jess's small, dark brown ones. And suddenly this rough and tumble boy looks a little vulnerable.

"So, we're keeping it, right?" Mike says gruffly.

"If the four of us can convince Mom," James replies, completely cutting me out of the picture.

"Please," Mike scoffs. "If brainiac over here," meaning Mary "says we can do it, then it's a done deal."

"Yeah, we'll convince her. The question is how," Mary sighs. "None us know a lot about cats."

“Well, I can tell you one thing. This cat is a girl,” Mike announces and grins at how stunned everyone. . . no, how stunned his siblings look. Because for the first time, my four kids really look like a family. Don't get me wrong. We've got a long road ahead of us. But it's a start.

Now, it’s time for me to sneak off to make a phone call to give Donna a heads-up. No doubt about it. We're keeping this cat.


End file.
